May 5 2012

I wander the house. My shelf of self help and healing books seems to mock me. My art supplies taunt me. The mess on the floor reminds me I'm useless. A good day these days is one I manage to sleep away, wrapped in white sheets, listening to rain. Depression is hard and heavy in me. It reminds me somehow of bone. I don't know how it is possible to come back from this place. I feel too damaged, too lacking in everything that makes a meaningful life possible.

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